Wasteland
by Tanny
Summary: A short glimpse into Gollum's torture at Barad-dur and how it completely broke the last remnants of his spirit. Rated only for violence and mildly scary scenes. (No profanity.)


Disclaimer: In no way do I own or hold claim to any part of J. R. R. Tolkien's The Lord of the Rings. 

                                                                        **Wasteland**

            They had bound him tightly, and now the pain coursed through his body, filling him with a horrible distant numbness. Gollum cringed in fear, both in terror of more pain and of the place where they were taking him.

            The large orc at the front of the group snarled out an order, and the orc carrying Gollum sped up. His nose wrinkled in distaste at his burden: the slavering, emancipated wraith-like being.

            "Precious – oh, Precioussss isss looosst," moaned Gollum, struggling feebly against the rough hands that clutched him. Green points of light flickered in his empty eyes and he whimpered softly. "Hungry, we are, oh so hungry… Fisssssh, nice cold fissshesss…"

            "Shut up there, you fool!" snapped the orc carrying him with a bloodthirsty growl. The orc's hands tightened about the scrawny body and Gollum squealed in pain.

            "Makrat, kill him and Shagrat'll have your head," growled a heavyset orc next to them. "He's important – the boss wants him and orders came from high up."

            Cursing, Makrat spat and loosened the grip on his bundle. His steps fell heavy and evenly on the rocky terrain, each jolt causing Gollum to scream silently.

            The ground was dry and beginning to crack from the constant drought. Makrat let a foul grin make its way across his face as his feet pounded the dust. They were nearing the gates of the Black City.

            Gollum closed his eyes, the translucent lids sliding down slowly. Perhaps old memories were floating through his mind now; an idea of dark earth and flowing water, the scent of flowers and the joy of fresh green grass tickling his ankles. But that was so long ago. Shaking with fear, Gollum opened his mouth and muttered a few inaudible words.

            "What did you say?" shouted Makrat over the stamping of hundreds of feet. He shook the limp creature fiercely when Gollum did not reply. "Speak or I'll drink blood from your filthy skull!"

            "Hungry," whined Gollum pitifully.

            Makrat glanced at his companion. "What say you, Lundag?"

            The other orc growled. "I told you, they expect him alive."

            Magrat shoved Gollum under one arm and with the other, reached down to a pouch hanging from a grimy belt of chain links at his side. He dug in the pouch and withdrew a grey crust of bread.

            "Here," he snarled, pushing the crust in Gollum's face. The creature's feeble fingers caught hold of it and Gollum brought it warily to his mouth.

            "Pah!" Gollum spat, his face contorting in disgust. "We do not eat man-food. Fish…. Yes, nice fisshessss – good to eat and tasteful to our stomachssss…"

            "Aarrgh!" Makrat roared in anger. He dug his sharp nails into Gollum's bony frame and lunged forwards towards the one place he knew as home.

            One, two, one, two. The pattern was unceasing and fast; orcs had no mercy for themselves or for their enemies. They traveled through the barren land, destroying any faint remnants of life. The dried weeds crumbled when they were touched. The orcs passed few trees, and those that they took any notice of were withered and crooked from the dry, death-filled wind.

            It was one day and nightfall when Gollum was brought to the orc's destination. In his barely conscious state, he did not see the orcs flood into their dread city, and he did not hear the words exchanged about what to do with the prisoner. He was thrown in a dark, damp cell until further notice. 

            Nameless other creatures dwelt in the poorly made prison; it was crude, but effective. Gollum curled up, shuddering, in a corner. His eyes glowed dimly in the floom. Hissing, he balled his bony fists and tried to sleep. Sleep would not come to the wretched being. "Preciousss loossst. Bagginsesss…." 

            The poor creature's stay was short. Soon after, orc guards dragged him to a high platform on a tower; a black tower. Several orcs dressed in filthy black armour bound him to a wicked looking machine of gears and wheels.

            Gollum shrieked and flailed his arms, but to no avail. The orcs began to prepare the machine for its task of drawing out the most excruciating wails from their victim. They made no sound. The machine was well oiled, and it was well used.

            A tall and thin black-cloaked figure moved out of the shadows at the side of machine. "You may begin," he said distinctly in a cold, emotionless voice. The figure's face could not be seen in the shadows of his hood, and at the creature's side hung a long white sword.

            The orcs moved quickly, carefully, as if they were afraid of the black cloaked man. Far down below, a horse whinnied; a disconcerting, high pitched sound. The man stirred. An orc lit a torch, and brought it towards Gollum's eyes.

            Hours later, amidst Gollum's screams of pain and mindless babbling, the Black Rider had learned what he had come for. The Master would have his information, and the wrath of the eye might be lessened; its watchfulness less focused on its servants.

            Gollum screeched and reached out at an invisible specter. "Precious – no Preciousss is lossst!" his voice tapered off into a long thin wail of rage. His face twisted in fury. "Baggins!" he hissed. "Cheater Baggins are. Curse that name, we will…." He trailed off, writhing as the chains pulled on his thin body.

            "Enough." The Black Rider held up a gloved hand. "I have what I need."

            The orc bearing the torch could not resist jabbing the light in Gollum's face once more. He was dead before he hit the ground, spitted on the death-blade of the Nazgul. The Rider withdrew his blackened blade and wiped it clean on the orc's corpse. Then he replaced it in its scabbard and left.

            There was a short silence among the remaining orcs. Gollum shut his eyes tightly, teeth gritted in the pain that assailed him. He had not seen such light in so long. A tiny fragment of his memory reached out towards that light, now sizzling ash beneath the dead orc. His fingers clenched and unclenched, but suddenly his body went limp. 

            Gollum twitched weakly. Even as he watched, he saw the light show him a way, but he was afraid. He pulled back, retreated into himself and let the dark envelop him.

            The light would free him, but the dark was so much more comforting.


End file.
